Tension Makes a Tangle - 14
Percy shook his head, "Joe...poor Annie...ANNIE!"
Percy jumped up from the table, "I have to call her; she must be devastated!"
He ran from the room and rushed upstairs, apparently to get his phone and make the call.
I looked over at Sherlock, feeling a mixture of anger, exasperation, relief, and affection.
"Sherlock, let me see your hand."
"It's really nothing, John, just a scratch. You don't have to fuss."
"If it's nothing, you won't mind me looking at it."
He sighed, "OK."
"Let's go to the bathroom where there's better light and I have the first aid stuff."
When we got there, he somewhat sheepishly removed the makeshift bandage that turned out to be his handkerchief, wound around his hand.
I inspected the wound carefully. It certainly wasn't "nothing" but not as bad as I feared. Apparently Joe's knife blade had skimmed across the knuckles of Sherlock's hand, making a neat, small slice at the top of each one. There was no fresh blood, so all I did was to clean the cuts and put knuckle plasters on each one.
"Now, before I decide if I'm very cross with you or not, do you want to tell me why you went off on your own to face Joe without telling me your plans?"
"I'm sorry, John. I wanted to get Percy out of the way, and I couldn't figure out how to do it without giving anything away. We didn't have a single moment alone."
"You could have told us both as we went back to the train station."
Sherlock shook his head. "Given Percy's state of mind, I didn't want to take the chance on what his reaction to my suspicions might be."
"I'm not happy with you facing knife-wielding criminals on your own. You promised me in your text that you were going to be careful."
"I was careful, John. This is nothing. I've suffered much worse."
"You were lucky."
We glared at each other for a few seconds.
Our standoff was ended by the sound of Percy hurrying back downstairs.
We came out and met him in the sitting room.
"John, Sherlock, I have to go. I need to get back home and be with Annie. She's extremely upset about what's happened. I also have to contact my boss and let him know that the manuscript has been found and has remained secure. I can't thank you two enough. You've saved my career and maybe my life. I'm sorry to run out like this. Please, send me a bill for your time, expenses, and troubles."
Sherlock waved him off, "I won't charge a friend of John's."
Percy glanced quickly between us, "Right, well, don't let me take advantage. I'm so grateful but I have to run. Bye, John, I'll be in touch."
And with that he rushed out of the flat, with an energy I couldn't have imagined him having when I first saw him that morning.
Sherlock turned to me once he had gone.
"Are you ashamed of me, John?"
I was startled, "What? No! Why?"
"You didn't tell Percy about us. He found out because of how I greeted you. I'm the one who told Harry about us."
I didn't know what to say.
"Are you ashamed of...us?"
"No, Sherlock. No. It's just...I'm getting used to it is all."
Sherlock's lips thinned in displeasure.
"Does it take you awhile to get used to a girlfriend?"
"Every relationship is different, Sherlock. And this is the most different one I've ever had."
"Maybe it's too different?"
"No, Sherlock. I don't regret it. I want this...us."
"I'd really prefer it if you two would have your dreary lovers' quarrel later," drawled Mycroft, who seemed to have materialized in our doorway.
There was a beat of shocked silence while Sherlock and I stared at Mycroft, looking his most pompous and condescending. It was a sign of just how absorbed Sherlock must have been to have allowed Mycroft to creep that close to us unnoticed.
Then, with a growl of fury Sherlock flew at Mycroft. It happened so quickly, I couldn't see exactly how it was done, but with a flash of limbs and a twirl of the umbrella, Sherlock landed on the floor on his stomach with Mycroft kneeling on him, pinning his arms from behind.
Mycroft said tightly, "You never learn, Sherlock. When you lose your temper, you lose."
"Get off me you bloody elephant!" snarled Sherlock.
I hurried over, "Mycroft! What are you doing? Let him go!"
Mycroft fixed me with a steely glare, but let go of Sherlock, rising gracefully back to his feet. Sherlock scrambled back up, still enraged.
I quickly stepped over to him, and anxiously asked, "Sherlock, are you hurt?"
He shrugged me off and turned to Mycroft.
"Get out of my flat!" he ordered.
"Sherlock, be reasonable, you came at me," Mycroft said calmly, although I could see he was still clutching the umbrella tightly.
"Stop it! Both of you!" I barked in my most commanding, soldier voice.
They both looked at me with surprise. I'm not sure I had ever taken that tone with either of them.
"Mycroft, what do you want? Please state your business, so that Sherlock and I can conclude our private conversation," I continued, taking it down just a tiny notch.
Sherlock grunted in displeasure and threw himself down on the couch. I remained standing, my arms folded across my chest, giving Mycroft one of my most intimidating stares. It didn't seem to have much of an effect.
"I came to see you, John," he said, leaning elegantly on his umbrella. "I came to request, politely, that you refrain from interfering with my family."
"Interfering with your family?" I repeated, puzzled.
"Yes, it has come to my attention that you have advised Margaret to defy my wishes to keep her and Tim safe."
"I did no such thing, Mycroft. Margaret came to me, and I advised her as I would have my own sister. My advice to her was that she make her own decision. What she decides is up to her, not me," I paused, "or you."
"Tim is my son," growled Mycroft. A small part of me was stunned that Mycroft was capable of such a primal sound.
Outwardly though, I scoffed at him.
"Biologically, yes," I said, rolling my eyes. "But you weren't there for his conception, weren't there for his birth, didn't change his nappies, and you didn't walk the floor with him when he cried non-stop for hours. Face it, Mycroft, YOU ARE A STRANGER. You are going to have to earn your place in Margaret's and Tim's hearts and lives. A piece of paper acknowledging your paternity doesn't make up for the last five years. That might sound harsh, but it's the truth, and if you don't believe me, just go and order Margaret around some more and see where it gets you."
Just then, my phone started to ring. I ignored it.
Mycroft stared at me intensely for a few seconds in silence, then seemed to relax a bit.
"Shall we sit down?" he asked.
"Sure," I said. We took the two armchairs, as Sherlock was still draped across most of the couch.
My phone stopped ringing. My voicemail had apparently picked up.
Mycroft looked at me thoughtfully then said, "Margaret knows nothing about the Galton Society. All she knows is that her father was our family doctor, and that our two families saw each other socially. She doesn't remember me, though. I guess she was still too young at the time. The Society is a burden of knowledge I don't want her or Tim to have to carry. Can I at least ask that you will not speak of it to them?"
"Of course, Mycroft," I said. "If there's no need for them to know, they're better off not knowing."
My phone started ringing again. Who's calling me? I wondered.
"Thank you," said Mycroft.
He looked over at Sherlock, and the two brothers engaged in one of their wordless conversations while my phone continued ringing in the background. I wondered where it was, it wasn't in my pocket, but was obviously somewhere in the sitting room.
"Well," said Mycroft after a bit of silence, "I'm sorry to have intruded. I'll be going, then. But, I don't want to leave without giving you both my heartfelt congratulations and best wishes for the future."
He smiled at us both warmly. I felt myself blush, Sherlock looked disgusted, and my phone finally stopped ringing.
Mycroft and I stood up, and he shook my hand. Sherlock pointedly refused to look at him. With a wry smile, Mycroft saw himself off.
Sherlock and I looked at each other. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, and my phone started ringing again.
"Answer your damned phone!" exclaimed Sherlock, "it's driving me mad!"
I found it under a stack of magazines on the coffee table. I looked at the screen to see who was so insistent about calling me.
"It's Harry!" I said, surprised.
"Hello?" I said, answering the call.
"John?" came Harry's voice, quavering a bit.
"Yes? Harry, what's wrong?"
"John, this is the last phone call I'll be allowed to make for at least two weeks. I wanted to let you know, I've checked myself into rehab."
END
A/N: Obviously, more to come in future installments. Huge "thank you" to the lovely Jarri Scythe for all of her Beta work. Also, many thanks to all you lovely readers and the encouragement you've given me.